


you are my sweetest downfall

by nerdytardis



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Episode: s01e08 The Defenders, kind of?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 02:09:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12223608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdytardis/pseuds/nerdytardis
Summary: In the aftermath of Midland Circle, Foggy struggles to remember what normal feels like.As promised, another post-Defenders fic.





	you are my sweetest downfall

**Author's Note:**

> i started this right after defenders came out but then school happened lmao. it ended up a little messier than i would have liked but i hope you still enjoy!
> 
> title is from "samson" by regina specktor

 

“Nelson.” Foggy flinched at the tone.  He knew exactly what was coming, had seen it barreling down on him for weeks.  “You’re done.”

Nodding numbly, Foggy didn’t even bother looking up; he was already well-acquainted with the disappointed, pinched expression on Hogarth’s face.

“Your work has been more than lacking over the past few weeks, and I’ve gotten tired of the excuses.”

Something in the back of Foggy’s mind told him to apologize, he had been the one dropping calls and coming in at erratic times after all, but he couldn’t seem to get the words out.  Even now, at the bottom of this pit, his pride wouldn’t let him admit that his grief was affecting other people too. 

“So,” Hogarth cleared her throat a little, shifting some papers in front of her around, “We’re letting you go.  Clear out your desk and leave the building by three.”

“I promise I won’t steal a stapler.” Foggy quirked a smile and finally looked up.  Hogarth’s frown deepened.

“You’re a good lawyer Mr. Nelson.  Don’t let this ruin you.”

Something gurgled and dead, nowhere near the laugh it was supposed to be, escaped Foggy’s lips and he shook his head.  “I’ll try and keep that in mind.” 

Turning on his heel, he left the office, then the hallway, then the building, not even stopping at his desk.  There was nothing important there.  An entire desk, an entire building even, and none of it really mattered. 

All of it could just disappear, leaving nothing behind, and it still wouldn’t hurt like this did. 

It had been almost a month. 

A month since the empty doorway; a month since his world fell apart. 

Foggy just kept walking, his feet carrying him even as his brain spiraled into its usual fog.  By the time he finally stopped, it was raining, the droplets splatting wetly against him.  He kept coming back here, for reasons a therapist would probably find textbook, but he couldn't seem to face on his own. 

There wasn’t anything left but a jagged pile of rubble that had been fenced off to keep people away.  It was going to take weeks for it to be totally cleared up.  By then there will be nothing but a blank building lot behind, devoid of any memory of what had happened here.  Of _him_. 

Maybe that’s why Foggy kept coming back.  The mass of twisted metal and broken glass reminded him of himself. 

Someday, all this stuff that has built up inside him would be gone, leaving nothing behind but a few memories.  Then even those would fade. 

The thought made him want to cry, but nothing came. 

\-- -- --

The keys landed in Foggy’s palm and his fingers curled around cool metal. 

“You don’t have to clean it out right away, I’ll give you time to box everything up.”  The landlord said, “Mr. Murdock was a good man, and I’m sad to lose him.”

Foggy dropped the keys in his pocket.  “Thank you.”

The man nodded, and politely looked away.  Foggy turned and left, quickly finding himself at the stairs to the apartments. 

Matt’s things were up there, everything he had left behind.  All his clothes, a stupid number of expensive teas for his sensitive palate, his father’s old boxing things.  Reminders of fights and tears, of takeout dinner and laughter. 

Too much. 

Turning on his heel, Foggy turned and walked onto the street, the keys a heavy weight at his side.   

\-- --- --

When they were in college, Foggy used to fall asleep with Matt more often than was probably normal for roommates; leaning against his shoulder, sitting side by side in one of their beds, his head on Matt’s chest as they watch a movie on his shitty laptop. 

He never realized how much he loved it until they graduated and got separate places.  They were still together all the time, but somedays it would get too late or be too snowy or something else that seems stupid now, and Foggy would sit his apartment alone. 

Staring at his television, he would realize how much better this would be with the warm weight of Matt against him and he’d suddenly feel a little bit empty. 

It got worse when he realized he had accidently fallen in love at some point along the way. 

All the little touches and casual contact that had been so nice before was now something else entirely.  Everything became technicolor and bright when Matt put his hand on Foggy’s arm or leaned against him. 

Foggy craved it, more than was probably healthy. 

But that was gone now.  All that was left was that empty feeling gnawing at his gut. 

\-- -- --

“How are you?” 

“I’m fine.”

Karen pressed her lips together and looked down at her coffee.  He knew her hurt was just as bad as his, worse probably, considering all the what-ifs that would never be realized.  Of the relationship they never got to really have. 

They would have probably gotten married at some point.  They had loved each other enough, that was for sure.  Foggy could see it every time they had been together. 

 _I would have been best man_ , Foggy realized, a pang of something deeper and darker hitting him in the gut.  Taking a sip of coffee, he let the bitter liquid burn his tongue. 

“Sometimes…” Karen started to say, her thumbnail scratching against the cheap ceramic mug, “I forget, for a moment.”  She blinked, turning to look out the window at the people walking by, the people who were still alive because of what _he_ did.  “For a few seconds, it’s like none of it ever happened.”

Foggy kept watching her, the way she pushed her hair behind her ear and bit her lip a little.

Turning back to her coffee, Karen shook her head, her eyes already red ringed.  “Then I remember.”

Her hand was chilly against his, but she intertwined their fingers without hesitation.  Holding onto each other for dear life, they each tried to find a sense of stability in their own whirlwind of confusion and fear. 

They kept holding on to each other, even as their coffee grew cold and the waitresses began to stare. 

\-- -- --

It took him too long to get up the stairs, but he finally managed it.  The door closed quietly behind him and Foggy pocketed the keys.  

The apartment wasn’t like he remembered it.  Still a mess from the earthquake, even after all these weeks, there was food spilled and dust settled over everything.

There wasn’t even a suit in the chest by the door; the familiar thing that Foggy didn’t realize he would miss until it was gone.  It had been Matt’s whole world and now it was left at the bottom of a hole. 

Scrubbing both his hands over his face and through his hair, Foggy looked around. 

He took off his coat and draped it across the couch, before setting to work cleaning up the spilled food in the kitchen.  

The work was mindless, simple and repetitive.  Letting his brain focus on the movement and not the memories, Foggy didn’t let anything, not even the depressing state of the fridge—it was a wonder Matt had enough energy to even blow up a building in the first place—get to him. 

The bedroom was more of what he was used to; everything neatly packed away in its given place.  Walking over to the dresser, he opened the top shelf, the stuffy smell of clothes packed away for too long wafting up to meet him. 

The next drawer had sweatpants and t-shirts, things for sleeping and relaxing in. 

Running a hand over the clothes, he was suddenly hit by a surprising wave of grief.  He hadn’t seen his best friend in anything other than a form of battle armor, whether a bullet-proof one or a sharp, professional suit, in months.  

He had almost forgotten how soft Matt really was. 

Foggy blinked, realizing that his hand had stopped on a Columbia shirt.  He pulled it out of the drawer and held it out in front of him. 

The fabric was soft under his fingers, delicate after years of being washed and worn thin. 

It had been a gift, something from the school bookstore to replenish Matt’s nonexistent wardrobe.  Foggy had seen him wear it for years, seen how it would ride up against his stomach, and rest across his shoulders.  It had been Foggy’s favorite shirt to borrow. 

But that was years ago.  Foggy had no idea that Matt still had it.

Carefully, like it would fall apart in his hands, he brought it to his face and took a deep breath.  It still smelled like Matt. 

Tears started to soak the shirt as his knees hit the floor.  His entire body was shaking, the racking sobs rattling through his chest. 

He didn’t know how much time passed, but he eventually pulled himself together and looked down at the shirt, now unfolded and wrinkled in his hands.  Taking deep, even breaths, he rubbed the fabric between his fingers a few more times. 

Foggy stood back up and whipped away his tears before refolding the shirt.  At the door, he picked up one of the boxes he brought and gently laid the shirt down at the bottom.  More clothes went in over it, with books and work stuff going in another box. 

It would take a few trips but soon there would be nothing left here but furniture and those cheap paintings Matt got when Foggy complained the place looked too sad.  Those would go with the apartment. 

Melancholy seeping into his bones, Foggy picked up the boxes and started for the stairs. 

\-- -- --

The distant sound of sirens filtered into his room through the walls. 

Slowly, Foggy woke up.  He blinked blearily and rubbed a hand across his face before he stilled, staring at the ceiling.  

A rumbling at his bedside table called for his attention and he rolled over with a groan.  His hand left the warmth of his covers and search for his phone. 

“Hello?” he asked, his mouth stale from sleep and last night’s beer. 

“Foggy, it’s me.”  Karen’s voice had a desperate edge to it, something strained.  It sounded like she’d been crying.

Sitting up, Foggy was fully awake now, the cycle of useless thoughts gone for once.  “What’s wrong?  Are you okay?”

“I’m—” Her voice shook, and stuttered to a stop.  A rustling sound came over the phone, like she was wiping at her nose with her sleeve, or bringing a hand to her hair. 

Foggy was standing at this point, searching across the piles of stuff for some clothes.  “I’m on my way right now.  Where—”

“No.  Foggy, you need to stay in your apartment.”

He stopped, one leg in a pair of wrinkled pants.  “What?”

“He’s _alive_.”

Karen’s words hit him like a punch to the gut, and Foggy could feel something small igniting in his chest as they washed over him.  Even as the world seemed to turn and froth, he didn’t move an inch. 

“Foggy, did you hear me?  Matt’s—”

The phone hit the ground with a clatter.  He stared at it, the phone still displaying a picture of Karen across its bright little screen.  Distantly and quietly, he could still hear her, her words reaching out for him, “he’s on his way.”

Foggy backed up quickly, kicking off the pants on the way, and ran shaking hands through his hair.  Belatedly, he realized that his chest was rising and falling at a painful rate, his breath rattling though him thickly. 

He’d lost it.  After all this time, all the yelling and fighting and guilt, _he,_ Franklin Nelson, was the one who truly lost his mind.  Not the guy in the devil suit, no; Matt gave up everything to save the city, while Foggy spiraled out of control and ruined his own damn life. 

And now he was losing his touch with reality.  And having a panic attack apparently. 

The wheezing of his breath had reached Foggy’s ears and mixed with the sounds of the city, suddenly so much louder than it had been a minute earlier.  It was like the world was shuddering together and he—

“Foggy?”

Everything was still.  Not a single mote of dust moved. 

Foggy felt like he might puke, he was so tense.  Sitting on the edge of his bed, he listened to the voice sound through his apartment. 

“Karen lent me her key.” The voice said, then quieter, “Foggy?”

A man stepped into the doorway, and a terrible hope swept through Foggy, even as adrenaline seizing him. 

The man was dressed in a worn sweatshirt and a pair of jeans that were a few seizes too big.  His hair was shaggy, and he had a scruffy, short beard.  His lips were chapped from exposure.

But his eyes were bright, and his gaze was soft as he stared at a space near Foggy’s chest.   

He looked just like Matt. 

But Matt was dead. 

“Who are you?”

The words sounded so loud, even as they were breathed from shaking lips. 

The man flinched, a pained look like a kicked puppy flashing across his features; he took a halting step backwards.  Blinking and tilting his head—the same way Matt used to—his face contorted in a mixture of confusion and fear.  “You don’t recognize me?”

Something deep within Foggy broke at the sight, an instinctual response to seeing that face in pain. 

“You can’t—” Foggy had dreamed of this, of Matt walking back in like nothing had ever happened, but it was just a dream, an impossible fantasy that his grieving mind had created to cope.  “You look like Matt.”  He coughed a little.  When did his throat become so dry?  “Matt’s dead.”

“They fished me out and—”

“Actually,” Foggy stood up, startling them both.  “I don’t fucking care.”  The man blinked at him, shocked and visibly distressed, “You’re a clone, or an alien, or some kind of fucking up zombie.  God knows there’s enough of that going around.”

Foggy was actually shouting now, “Matt Murdock was my best friend in the whole goddamn world, and he died.” There were tears spilling over and onto Foggy’s cheeks at this point.  He got up close to the other man, trying to act as threatening as he could when he was practically sobbing.  The flinch it garnered from the other man only made Foggy feel worse, but he plowed on.  “And I don’t care what kind of crazy ass accident or religious cult made this happen; I will fight you right now.”

The man seemed afraid to move.  “Foggy—”

“Stop saying that!” Foggy’s voice was truly ragged now. 

“It’s me.” The man’s voice was desperate, pleading even, as tears gathered in his eyes too, “I’m here.” 

Bringing a hand up to his chest, the man’s fingers shook as he gestured to himself.  “My name is Matthew Michael Murdock.  I was blinded when I was eight, but got super-senses from the acid.  I met you at Columbia on move-in day.”  A broken smile cross his trembling lips, “You were listening to Train and trying to get into Punjabi.  You said I was extremely good looking.”

Foggy blinked against the salty tears, feeling the coil in his chest tighten.  The man’s fingers slipped a little, reaching slightly into the space between them. 

“You snored so loud, I thought I would never sleep again.” The man’s words were coming faster now, rushing out of him, “But you were so nice that I never even cared.  We roomed together every year after that, and graduated together, and took a soul-eating internship.  They hid us in a closet and called it an office, but I didn’t care because we were still together.

“You forced Landman and Zak to get a new Braille printer and lied when you told me about it.  You said it was free, but they took it out of your paycheck for months.  And it broke my heart that I could never even thank you for it.”

Foggy could feel himself being drawn closer, the gravity between them shifting, like it was impossible that they were apart to begin with.

“When I woke up, all I could think about was how you were right, and how you were going to suffer, because of the decisions _I_ made.”

Foggy took a true, full step into the space between them.

“I tried to hold onto the fact that you, and Claire and Karen and everyone else were alive, and it was almost enough…But I was too selfish.”

“What?” Foggy blinked. 

“The city was safe, but all I wanted was to be near you again; to hold your hand and listen to your heartbeat and—”

Foggy reached out a shaking hand towards the other man.  It was just the lightest touch against fabric, but it felt like a lightning bolt shot up Foggy’s arm straight to his chest. 

“Matt—”

A shudder went through him— _Matt_ —and Foggy’s hand moved up to cup his cheek, rough stubble rubbing against his fingers.  “It’s you.  You’re alive.” 

They were colliding before Foggy even got the rest of his words out, crashing against each other like waves against a coast. 

Stubble scrapped across his tear stained cheek as Foggy buried his face into Matt’s shoulder.  He could feel fingers digging into his back as Matt desperately held on, and Foggy knew he was doing the same thing. 

“I’m so sorry.  God, I am so sorry Foggy—”

“Shut up you Catholic bastard.” Foggy let out a choked, gurgled laugh as Matt shuddering against him.  “None of that matters right now.”

All that mattered was that Matt was here.  Every place they touched was another reminder.  Matt was alive.  He was alive and in front of him and right here and _he was alive_. 

Rearranging his hold on Matt a little, Foggy pulled back just enough to take in the sight of him.  “You’re alive.” He breathed between his shaky, tearful gulps of air.

Matt simply nodded, bringing his hands up to frame Foggy’s face.  They came together again, the weight in the air pulling them forward, and their foreheads met. 

Warm breath washed over Foggy’s face, their noses bumping against each other.

There were so many questions, so many things he needed to know, but all Foggy could managed to say was, “You need a shower.”

Matt froze, their faces mere inches apart, before a blinding grin shot across his face and he had to lean back from laughing so hard.  Slipping a little in Foggy’s grasp, they slowly and clumsily fell to the floor, where Matt pulled himself basically into Foggy’s lap.

“What?” Foggy said, laughing while pulling a sleeve across the mess of salty tears on his face, “You smell.”

Finally coming to a shuddering, messy stop, Matt rested his head against Foggy’s shoulder.  “I missed you so much.”

“I’m not the one that fucking died.”

“I had no idea what had happened.” Matt didn’t even pull back, just encircled Foggy in his arms again and leaned his head against Foggy’s shoulder, “I didn’t even realize how much time had passed until they told me.”

“Who is—wait.  Never mind.” Foggy brought a hand up to Matt’s overgrown hair and started carding his fingers through it, “I don’t even want to know.”

Matt hummed into Foggy’s shoulder, “It’s a long story anyway.”

“I bet.”

Silence fell, punctuated only by their breathing, still shaky from crying, and the small sounds of fabric shifting.  It was like they had just run a marathon, each too tired and worn from their respective experiences to do anything but hold the other.

“We should call Karen.” Foggy finally said, the fragile silence broken. 

Matt nodded and sat up, but made no move to leave Foggy’s arms.  Tilting his head for a moment, he picked up Foggy’s phone from its place on the floor and handed it to him.

“She almost punched me when I showed up.”

Foggy laughed, a giddy and surreal feeling, and started dialing her number. 

Matt leaned back in, resting the side of his head on Foggy’s shoulder.  “You smell different.” He said after a minute.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Neither.  It’s just…different.”

Foggy let out a breath and put the phone to his ear.  “Lots of things are different.”

“Anything I should know about?”

After barely half a ring, Karen picked up and started shouting. 

Foggy looked to Matt in time to watch him smile, and he felt something in his gut settle for the first time in a long time. 

“Nah.  It’s all unimportant stuff.”

Matt hummed again, as Karen finally stopped for a breath.  “It’s okay Karen.” Foggy said, “We’re all good here.”

“I’m almost at your building.”

Matt chuckled, and Foggy said, “Okay, I’ll let you in.”

Ending the call and letting his phone land back onto the carpet, Foggy gently rested his head on top of Matt’s. 

Waiting for Karen, both of them knowing that they would have to move eventually and neither wanting to leave the comfort of their current position, they sat in contented silence.  Foggy started carding his hand through Matt’s hair again.

Somewhere in the city, a siren blared and Foggy could feel Matt tense slightly against him. 

 _And some things never change,_ Foggy thought distantly, his fingers brushing against Matt’s scalp. 

“Promise me you won’t do this again.”

Matt sat up a little, trying to pinpoint Foggy’s face.  “You know I can’t do that.”

“Just do it.”  Foggy said, taking one of Matt’s hand in his, “I don’t care if it’s true or not.”

Matt’s expression softened.  “I will try not to almost die again.”

Foggy whistled a little, “That was the most indirect promise ever and you know it Murdock.  That would never fly in court.”

“Am I on trial?” Matt was smiling again. 

“Maybe.” Foggy said, shrugging and letting a small smile return to his lips, “But I’ve heard the judge has a soft-spot for ridicules vigilantes.”

“Oh really?” Matt laughed a little against his shoulder and Foggy had to remind himself this wasn’t a dream.  This was real.

His side was burning everywhere Matt touched him, like he was cuddling a fire and not a person, but it felt so good that he didn’t dare move.  The wonderful moment dragged on and Foggy let himself forget the rest of the world. 

It was imperfect and messy, and there was so much he didn’t understand, but they were together, and that’s about all Foggy ever wanted.  Nelson and Murdock against the world. 

There was a knock at the door.  Reality came back into focus. 

Foggy squeezed Matt’s hand and smiled.    “We should get up, face the lights and all that jazz.”

Matt laughed a little, Foggy’s heart swelled, and they pulled each other up.

Together. 

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted to see more of foggy being visibly upset over matt dying?? that was literally the entire reason i started this lmao, but being me i couldn't end it on a sad note  
> anyway, thanks for reading!


End file.
